


Regency Crack AU

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-03-15
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: A house party for the benefit of his young wards leads to an interesting encounter for Sir Rupert Giles.





	1. In which Rupert Giles' new bride surprises him [backstory]

**Author's Note:**

> As I continue writing this (it's currently on hiatus, but you never know) other pairings and characters may be added (I have plenty planned). I'll update as needed.
> 
> The vast majority of this work does not require archive warnings at all--Chapter 2 does. 
> 
> This is a story written in brief snippets, so expect things to jump around a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about twenty years before the main story, when Rupert Giles--not yet knighted for his services to the Crown--is newly married. So perhaps this bit should be labeled "Georgian Crack AU."

He'd married her for an heir, he told himself. An heir, and the respectability that a gently-bred wife of impeccable  _ton_  would give him. Bedding Jenny wouldn't be a chore, but he hadn't married her for that pleasure, and once she'd given him sons, he'd cease to make demands on her. She'd be able to live her life as she wished, free from her husband's interference. The fact that she was intelligent and lovely had only meant they would deal well together when necessary.   
  
But the first night that he came to her room, he arrived while her maid was still helping her to undress. She'd looked up at him, and her smile had shown nothing of the proper young lady he'd thought he knew. She'd been enchanting, her sparkling eyes and dark hair giving her a look of pagan wildness--and she'd sent the maid away, stretching out her hand to him and asking him to help her instead.   
  
And perhaps that description of her was apt--a pagan or even a witch--for there could be no other explanation for how he found himself loosening his bride's stays, kissing the white swell of her breasts reverently--or why, instead of the casual declaration of his intention that he had planned, he found himself asking, in a hoarse whisper, to be granted the favor of visiting her bed that night.   
  
Bewitched, he thought again the next morning, and every morning for the two years he'd had her with him. 


	2. In which Rupert Giles kisses his wife [backstory]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is off-screen character death in this part. 
> 
> Takes place around 20 years before the main story.

"You are certain you don't object, my dear?" Rupert asked, even though his hat was in his hand and a groom was bringing the carriage around. If his wife had any significant objection, he thought, she would have voiced it long before now, considering that the interesting condition in which she currently found herself had not lessened her innate forthrightness.   
  
"I do not wish you to leave, of course," Jenny said, setting aside her needle-work; "you know I am never perfectly at ease when you are away from home. But I should be a poor-spirited thing indeed if I insisted that my husband neglect his business to dance attendance upon me, and I am perfectly capable of filling the hours without your presence." She looked up at him, smiling. "Besides, there are three months yet of my confinement, and I do not wish you to grow tired of my unreasonable demands before it ends."   
  
Rupert chuckled, delivering a sweeping bow, then taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to it. "I am, as ever, your most obedient servant," he murmured; then, as she began to laugh, he bent down to kiss her properly.   
  
He could still hear her laughter as he closed the door behind him, a memory that would have to keep him for the days he was away from home. He shook his head at his own foolishness, wondering yet again how he had expected to marry Jenny and  _not_  fall in love with her.   
  
  


***

  
  
The midwife swore a messenger had been sent to London to fetch him, and indeed, later that night, one of the grooms rode in, grey from exhaustion. They had missed one another, however, and he had been unaware of what would be waiting for him when he finally returned home.   
  
From what the midwife and the servants told him, even if he had known and had pushed his horses as hard as he dared, he would not have arrived in time, and he could have done little regardless.   
  
At least, he thought, it might not have come as such a surprise as it did now, when he'd ridden out a husband and father, and come home as neither. 


	3. In which Sir Rupert's library is invaded

  
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It was Sir Rupert's habit to ride out over his estate in the mornings, and then to spend the hours after breakfast attending to the business of his estate, so that he might devote his afternoons and evenings to participating in whatever entertainments his cousin thought would divert their guests. Since the first of those guests had arrived, his morning rides had been in the company of those gentlemen who desired to take exercise, but he had still found them a pleasant escape from the unaccustomed bustle of his household.   
  
Unfortunately, this morning, the weather was too foul to venture forth on any but the most urgent of errands, and Sir Rupert breakfasted early before retreating to his library, intending to write to his man of business in London concerning several matters he wished Wells to handle. Few of his guests were of a scholarly disposition, and so he anticipated a few hours to himself, something he had been sorely missing of late.   
  
Perhaps he  _had_  spent too many years rusticating on his estates, as his cousin had often chided him; he was aware that a country house-party could hardly compare to a crush at the height of the Season, and yet, he longed for the time when he would once again resume his orderly existence.   
  
He had scarcely closed the doors to the library behind him when he realized that he wasn't alone in the room, although he was unable to see his companion's face, hidden as it was behind a volume Sir Rupert recognized as the Ovid he had been reading the previous night. It was one of the younger men, to be sure, and one not overly fastidious in his dress; the scuffed boots so carelessly dangling over the arm of the sofa would have pained Sir Rupert's own valet greatly.   
  
"Oh!" the young gentleman cried out, sitting up with a start, the book with which he had been shading his eyes clattering to the floor and causing Sir Rupert to wince. "I hadn't meant to-- I say, sir, I beg your pardon."   
  
Now that Sir Rupert could see the boy's face, he recognized him as young Mr. Harris, whom his ward had most  _particularly_  requested be included in the party--though, he suspected, less for her own sake than for that of Miss Rosenberg, who appeared to cherish a  _tendre_  for the lad. Sir Rupert's only impression of him had been that he seemed an amiable sort, although he was certain that the ladies of his household would be more than pleased to present him with a list of the lad's faults and virtues, were he to ask. "No need," he said, chuckling. "I trust this is not meant by way of a complaint about your bedchamber?"  
  
Mr. Harris, bending down to retrieve the  _Metamorphosis_  in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the color that had risen to his cheeks, replied quickly, "No, sir! I only came in here so that--well, you'll think me a complete gudgeon for saying it, so I shan't."   
  
"I daresay," Sir Rupert said, accepting the book from Mr. Harris and returning it to its place on the shelves, "you're here for much the same reason I am." He smiled wryly. "Or perhaps you don't find it wearing to be for ever at the mercy of matchmaking mamas." While those mamas had long since despaired of Sir Rupert ever marrying again, they were still constantly seeking his advice and his assistance in their schemes, his own cousin being the most determined in that regard.   
  
"Grandmothers," Mr. Harris corrected him wearily. "Will--Miss Rosenberg has only her grand-mama." He sank back on the couch, unaware that his hair had been mussed during his slumber. Sir Rupert wouldn't have thought this young man to be such a prize on the Marriage Mart, but he had learned long ago that the ways of parents (and, he supposed, grandparents) bent on determining their offspring's future happiness were beyond his understanding.   
  
Unfortunately  _not_  beyond his understanding, he thought, was the way his palm itched to smooth the tousled dark curls back into place.  _There is_ , he thought to himself,  _no fool like an old one._  
  
"But surely," Sir Rupert said, wracking his brains for a moment to recall the conversations he had done his best to ignore some weeks ago, "I was given to understand there is an understanding between you and Miss Rosenberg?"  
  
Mr. Harris's response was to sigh. "We have been friends since we were in leading-strings," he admitted, "and I suppose that if I  _must_  marry someone, she and I will deal well enough together."   
  
"And yet you hide in my library," Sir Rupert said, smiling at the flush that once again rose to the young man's cheeks.   
  
"Dash it, I'm not ready to be leg-shackled to anyone!" Harris exclaimed, then thought better of himself. "And again I should be begging your pardon, sir, for wasting your time on this."   
  
"Don't concern yourself with that," Sir Rupert reassured him. "My time is completely at your disposal." He had meant it to sound dryly sarcastic, but found the words held a ring of sincerity nonetheless.   
  
The bright, grateful grin Mr. Harris gave him left him certain that had not gone unnoticed by his companion. 


	4. In which Sir Rupert cannot like the waltz, and Mr. Harris dances with an Incomparable

  
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"I cannot like it," Sir Rupert said, his gaze turned toward the couples whirling about the dance floor in what, in his day, would have been a scandalously close embrace.   
  
His cousin smiled, watching her elder daughter waltzing in the arms of that Captain Finn who'd been following after her for the past several days. "I had expected that of you," she said. "Would you really believe that I would allow anything the least bit improper?"   
  
"Of course not, Cousin Joyce," Sir Rupert assured her. "I still cannot like it."   
  
She laughed, and Sir Rupert thought that at least this house-party had had the desired effect upon her. She had only been a widow for a few short years, after all, and like himself, she had been shut up in this house for most of that time. He suspected that if she had not had a Season to arrange, and her daughters' matrimonial prospects to consider, she would have become as much of a recluse as he, no matter how much she scolded him for his solitary ways. "The girls would never believe me if I told them what a rake you were in our younger days."   
  
"I suspect," Sir Rupert said, smiling, "that they would believe nothing more reckless of me than, perhaps, a high-stakes game of faro." Not, of course, that he would have permitted his widowed cousin to make her home with him if any hint of scandal had attached to him from his youth. He was entirely too fond of her, and of her daughters, for that.   
  
A dark-haired young woman glided past him, and his head turned in her direction, caught as much by the primrose of her gown as by her face. "Who is that?" He had made the effort to learn the names of all of his--or more accurately, his cousin's--guests, but he didn't recall seeing this particular girl before tonight.   
  
"Good heavens," she replied, "I thought every gentleman in the room aware of last Season's Incomparable."  
  
Sir Rupert could, he thought, see why. The girl was quite lovely, impeccably dressed, and, presumably charming; he couldn't see her face at the moment, or make out any of her words, but her partner seemed to be quite taken with her, laughing at whatever witty remark she had just favored him with.   
  
And then Sir Rupert recognized that laughter, and the Incomparable faded into the background as he realized that she had bestowed a waltz on none other than young Mr. Harris, the invader of libraries. His valet really should be sacked, Sir Rupert thought, for even in evening attire, the young man seemed to be a bit rumpled. Or perhaps it was the boy himself who did that, as his neckcloth was tied in the remains of what had probably been a perfect Mathematical at the start of the evening.   
  
They passed Sir Rupert and Mrs. Summers again, and now he was able to see Mr. Harris's face, the obvious delight he took in the girl's company.   
  
"Her name, cousin," Sir Rupert said, his head turning to watch them pass. "I must have her name." He wasn't entirely certain why it mattered; Mr. Harris was blissfully unaware of how thoroughly he had cut up Sir Rupert's peace, these past several days.   
  
"Miss Cordelia Chase," was her reply, "and if you hadn't been shut up in that library of yours with the servants told not to disturb you unless the house was afire, you'd have been properly introduced this afternoon. She wished to make her apologies for her late arrival, but it seems there had been illness in the family, and she was delayed."  
  
"Miss Chase," he repeated. The name was vaguely familiar; he supposed he had known her father at some point, years ago.   
  
"Your reputation as an eccentric will only go so far, cousin," Mrs. Summers continued, "and after this dance, I shall introduce you, and you will behave as the perfect host."  
  
"Yes," Sir Rupert agreed, "I should be delighted to make her acquaintance." He fell silent then, his eye following the swirl of Miss Chase's primrose gown around the room.


	5. In which Miss Rosenberg makes a new acquaintance

Willow had had enough of dancing.   
  
Truth be told, she had had quite enough of dancing before the orchestra struck up the first set; it was never among her favorite ways to pass an evening. However, her grandmother had reminded her time and again that proper, well brought up young ladies of the  _ton_  enjoyed dancing above almost all things, and so Willow schooled her expression carefully and pretended to enjoy having her toes trodden on by clumsy young men and grandfathers in their cups.   
  
The first dance had not been such a trial; if she must dance, Xander-- _Mr. Harris_ , she reminded herself, hearing her grandmother's disapproving sniff at such a lapse in her manners--was certainly a more tolerable partner than most. At least with him, she did not have to watch her tongue, lest she give some gentleman the notion that she actually had a brain in her head.   
  
And Grandmamma  _liked_  Mr. Harris, too, so she never complained when Willow danced with him.   
  
But he was dancing with Miss Chase now, smiling and laughing in a way that he never did when he was dancing with Willow. He looked like an idiot, she thought, pretending her shallow conversation and spiteful remarks thinly disguised as wit were, in fact, perfectly delightful. And Willow did  _not_  wish to have to pretend that she was enjoying herself when she most certainly was not.   
  
She waited until her grandmother's attention was elsewhere, and slipped out of the ballroom and onto the terrace. There were torches lit outside, providing some illumination and making this a reasonably respectable place for a young lady to find herself.  
  
She realized once the French doors had closed behind her that she wasn't alone; at least she wasn't interrupting a tryst, however, as her companion was a young woman Willow did not recognize as being one of the party.   
  
One of the maids, she thought at first, slipping out to enjoy both the fresh air and a moment's respite from her duties, but then she saw that the girl's gown, though ill-fitting and of last year's mode, was quite well-made.   
  
"Are you all right?" Willow asked, seeing that the girl was leaning on the low wall surrounding the terrace--in a manner that would have had Willow in her room embroidering samplers for a week, if her grandmother caught sight of her slouching so--with her head buried in her hands.   
  
"Oh!" The girl jumped, turning around quickly to face Willow. She looked slightly familiar, but not enough that Willow thought they had met in the past.   
  
"I'm sorry," Willow said. "If I had realized that anyone was out here--"  
  
"Oh, n-no," the girl stammered. "It's... I should be..." She gestured toward the doors.   
  
"So should I," Willow confided, wondering why, if this girl was one of the other guests, they had not been introduced. Well, she thought, she would have to take matters into her own hands, until such a time when someone was around to perform the social niceties. "I'm Willow Rosenberg," she said.   
  
The girl gave her a sweet-looking smile. "Tara Maclay." Willow was glad that Miss Maclay had been willing to not stand on ceremony. And after all, it wasn't  _shockingly_  improper, as it would have been if she had introduced herself to a gentleman.   
  
"You're not d-dancing?" Again, the slight stammer, and Willow wondered if, somehow, she was making the other girl nervous. Surely she couldn't expect that Willow would tell her chaperon that she'd slipped out here alone, given that Willow had done the same thing.   
  
"No," Willow said. "No one--I mean," she said determinedly, "I have chosen to sit out this dance. I felt the need for some fresh air." And this line on her dance card had been quite empty, despite the fact that the patronesses of Almack's had given her permission to waltz last season; Lady Jersey was a friend of her grandmother's. And Sir Rupert and the other older gentlemen who had been graciously ensuring that the young women who wished to dance did not lack for partners were all otherwise occupied. And Xander--Mr. Harris, she reminded herself sternly; it was time to put foolish childhood dreams behind her--was dancing, was  _waltzing_ , with Miss Chase.   
  
Miss Maclay smiled at her again. "I have not been given permission to waltz," she said. "I--I'm only Miss Chase's companion."   
  
And then Willow remembered her, a quiet figure in the background at the few balls last Season that both she and Miss Chase had attended. Willow had been too busy, at the time, trying to remember all of her grandmother's instructions on proper behavior for a young lady seeking a husband, to take much notice of her, or of anything else, for that matter, but she thought she'd heard her grandmother and some of the other matrons talking in low tones about the foolishness of Lady Chase, engaging a companion for her high-spirited daughter, when that companion was only a few years older than Miss Chase herself--even if she was an impoverished relation who needed a way of earning her keep.   
  
Willow had always been very good at remembering the things she overheard people talking about; even if they weren't terribly interesting, it gave her something to think about than what Xander was doing back home, or how many times her dancing partner was going to trod on her slippers before she was allowed to retreat from the dance floor.   
  
At the time, the murmurings about Miss Chase's companion had been just another uninteresting bit of gossip, although her dislike of Miss Chase left her wishing that some scandal would result from inadequate chaperonage. Now, they seemed much more fascinating. "Waltzing," Willow said, "is very tiresome. I much prefer conversation." That was quite true, although she certainly would never let her grandmother overhear her saying as much.   
  
Blushing, Miss Maclay said, "I am not skilled at c-conversation, either, I'm afraid."  
  
Willow smiled at her. "That," she said firmly, "is not at  _all_  the case."   
  


* * *


	6. In which Sir Rupert is surprised by the latest on-dits

"I told her ladyship that there was nothing to it, of course," Mrs. Summers said, accepting a cup of chocolate from the footman and nibbling at a muffin. Then, frowning, she looked over at Sir Rupert. "There  _is_  nothing to it, I presume?"   
  
Sir Rupert had been far too preoccupied attempting to determine what on earth had provoked his cousin to come down to breakfast, several hours before she normally left her bedchamber, to pay the least bit of attention to what she'd been saying. "Of course not," he said, wondering what he was denying and wishing he'd gone out for his usual ride this morning. But Wells had come up from London yesterday, and had requested an appointment with Sir Rupert, and so he had remained behind while the other gentlemen rode out, planning to spend the time before the man's arrival writing out some instructions he wished to be carried out when Wells returned to London.   
  
"I said as much," she said, satisfied. "I told her ladyship that if you ever thought of marrying again, you certainly would have informed your family of it."   
  
Sir Rupert choked on his food. "Marriage?" he repeated when he'd regained the power of speech.   
  
"Well, what do you expect?" his cousin demanded, shaking her head. "Staring after Miss Chase as if you were a boy in the throes of calf-love." She sighed. "She  _is_ quite beautiful, of course, and I expect her papa will settle quite a large sum on her--not, of course, that you had considered that."  
  
"I hadn't considered the chit at all," Sir Rupert grumbled. "She's barely out of the schoolroom."   
  
"She was presented last year," she corrected him.   
  
"She's a child," he said. At least young men of nineteen or twenty had often seen some of the world beyond a London ballroom, he told himself in an attempt to quell the pangs of guilt at his own hypocrisy.   
  
"And yet, at the ball, you watched her most of the evening, and stood up with her for a country dance, when no one had seen you dance for twenty years."   
  
"I stood up with any number of girls," Sir Rupert pointed out. "As their host, it was my duty."   
  
"You only watched one."   
  
He nodded slightly. "True." Oh, he'd kept a watchful eye on his ward as well, given the reports her mother had given him about her Season and her apparent tendency to fall in love with ineligible young gentlemen--or one, at least--but it was true that Miss Chase had been the only one to catch his attention.   
  
Of course, Miss Chase had been the only one to stand up not once, but  _twice_  with Mr. Harris, and Miss Chase had been the only one to allow Mr. Harris to take her in to supper, and Miss Chase had been talking animatedly to Mr. Harris--in a small group of the younger guests; the Incomparable was a well brought-up young lady, it seemed--and that had been when Sir Rupert had had quite enough, and gone in to the card-room for whist and brandy and a chance to put dark hair and bright eyes and a warm, quick smile out of his mind.   
  
Miss Chase, he dared not say, held no temptation for him at all. 


	7. In which Sir Rupert gambles for rather high stakes

"You must have loved her very much," Mr. Harris said, looking toward the portrait hanging over the fireplace.   
  
It was a topic of conversation that presumed a rather great familiarity, but Sir Rupert had grown quite fond of the lad, these last weeks, and fancied that Mr. Harris saw him rather as a surrogate for his own father, of whom Sir Rupert had heard nothing good. The fact that Sir Rupert saw him as something other than a surrogate son did not, would not, enter into it, but it did mean he granted Mr. Harris a familiarity that he might not have granted to the others of the house-party.   
  
"I did," Sir Rupert agreed, "although I should confess that I have not, in fact, been in seclusion here all these years out of mourning." He smiled. "The first year, certainly, but beyond that, I simply chose to allow people to believe I was still grieving for my Jenny, while I remained here with my books and my horses. I'd no wish to marry again, and if I'd rejoined society before establishing a reputation as a recluse, I would have found myself at the mercy of half the mamas of the ton."  
  
"All wishing to remind you that you have no heir?" Mr. Harris said, with a cheerful grin. "As if you were about to stick your spoon in the wall!"   
  
"And as though that were my first concern," he confirmed. He'd never seen the need to explain to any of those busybodies that, with no entail on his estates, he had chosen to make his cousin's daughters his heirs, or their children if he should--heaven forbid--outlive the girls. He'd had the papers drawn up most carefully, to ensure that Buffy and Dawn would be well provided for no matter what wastrels their husbands might prove to be.   
  
Mr. Harris seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then said, "Are y--is it terribly lonely?" He frowned. "Willow is a splendid girl, of course, but I daresay I shouldn't like being married above half. But I haven't your brains, Sir Rupert, and I don't think books and I would be cheerful companions."   
  
"It--can be," Sir Rupert said. "But my situation is rather different to yours."   
  
"I had meant before Mrs. Summers and her daughters came to live with you, of course," he explained.   
  
And that, of course, had not been what Sir Rupert meant, or what, he suspected, Mr. Harris had been alluding to. "Some men find it convenient to set up an establishment in Town, in case they should find the loneliness unbearable," he suggested tactfully. He knew the lad was lacking in Town bronze, but he couldn't be all that green.   
  
"And is that what you've done, sir?" He grinned again, saying, "It's as well the ladies must remain unaware of that; they imagine you as the hero of a tragic romance."   
  
Sir Rupert chuckled; he couldn't imagine anyone less likely to figure in a lady's imagination as a romantic hero than himself. "As I've said, my situation is rather different."  
  
Mr. Harris looked up, meeting Sir Rupert's eyes, though the color was high in his cheeks. "You may think me rag-mannered for saying so, but I don't believe it is so different to mine, at all."  
  
"You've no idea what you're saying," Sir Rupert said.   
  
The flush was still on Mr. Harris' cheeks, but he didn't look away. "And if I do?"   
  
Sir Rupert realized then that Mr. Harris had slid a bit closer to them as they conversed, that the boy's hair had become tousled yet again, and that his eyes were wide and dark, searching Sir Rupert's expression for his answer.   
  
And oh, he was a fool again; he could hear what his cousin would have to say if he embroiled the household in any sort of a scandal before she'd found husbands for both her daughters. Particularly a scandal of the magnitude this would surely be, should the slightest hint of this get out. But Harris was still looking up at him, and Sir Rupert thought that perhaps, actions in this case would make his answer more clear than any words could.   
  
He bent his head, brushing his lips against the younger man's, expecting him to pull back in surprise. The surprise was Sir Rupert's, however, as the warm lips against his own parted eagerly, and the boy kissed him back with astonishing enthusiasm.   
  
When they parted, it took Sir Rupert a moment to collect his thoughts; another moment when he looked over and saw the boy's tongue darting over his red, kiss-swollen lips. "Perhaps," Sir Rupert conceded, "you may have known more than I suspected."  
  
"The only question remaining," he said, "is what use we should make of that knowledge."   
  
Sir Rupert chuckled. "Mr. Harris," he began, then shook his head, wanting to dispense with any formality between them, at least behind the library doors. The young man's given name was "Alexander," he knew, but--"That unusual name I've heard Miss Rosenberg call you when her grandmother is nowhere in sight," he said. "What is it?"  
  
"Xander? No one calls me that but her, at least not since I was a child," Mr. Harris said, brow furrowing in confusion.   
  
"Well, then, Xander," Sir Rupert said, lowering his voice so that the name sounded, he hoped, as intimate as a caress, "I believe you should be going to bed now."   
  
"I don't understand," Xander said, still frowning slightly. Sir Rupert struggled with the urge to kiss him until all the confusion left his face; there would be time enough for that after the boy had had a night to reconsider.   
  
"If we wish to ride alone in the morning," he said, "it will require an early start." And then, just to make himself more clear, he added, "And I do, quite definitely, wish to ride with you tomorrow unaccompanied by the rest of our acquaintance."   
  
The joyous smile Xander gave him was sufficient recompense for the loss of his self-control. 


	8. In which Sir Rupert and Mr. Harris talk of serious matters

"It will be the ruin of us both if we are found out," Sir Rupert said, once they were well away from the house.   
  
"Are you intending we should be caught?" Mr. Harris-- _Xander_ , Sir Rupert thought, with a rush of affection--asked, as Sir Rupert directed his mount toward the perimeter of the estate. They would be able to have a quiet, secluded ride, for Sir Rupert had recommended to his head groom that he suggest the other gentlemen might like to take the other direction, where the terrain would allow them to travel at a faster gait. "And besides," Xander went on, "I see no reason why we should be."  
  
"Caught, or ruined?" Sir Rupert asked, unable to conceal a smile despite his misgivings.   
  
"Caught," he clarified. "I can, of course, understand your concerns, especially as you would not wish any scandal to attach itself to the ladies of your household."   
  
Sir Rupert sighed. It would, certainly, be much simpler had this happened in a few years' time, when both his wards were safely wed. If his cousin found a gentleman who could live up to her memory of the late Major Summers, so much the better; he would have his home to himself, and his servants were, in the main, overwhelmingly loyal to his family, and had shown a tendency in the past to turn a blind eye to their master's behavior provided a veneer of propriety was maintained.   
  
But it had happened now, and Sir Rupert was unlikely to find the courage in himself to cast this aside now merely because it was unwise of him. There was little of the rake left in him now, but perhaps a tendency toward foolish risks remained.   
  
"Can you understand that 'ruin' is but a faint description of what could befall us?" His voice was quiet, but urgent, as he willed the young man riding beside him to consider the enormity of the situation.   
  
"Can  _you_  understand," Xander said, just as seriously, "that I should rather hang tomorrow with you, than live a hundred years without?"   
  
Sir Rupert sighed. "I sincerely hope it will not come to that."   
  
"And why should it?" the young man argued. "You are well known to rarely stir yourself past your own gate, and I am beneath the notice of--nearly everyone, I should think, as I've spent the past two years more concerned with the state of my own property than with the  _ton_."   
  
"Nonetheless, people are likely to be curious as to what brings you to visit so often--particularly when the house is empty of young women for the gossips to suppose you have fallen violently in love with."   
  
Xander gave him a very self-satisfied smile. "I had thought about that," he said. "And for once, my father's infamous behavior should serve me well, if we give the impression that I am coming to you for paternal guidance."  
  
"Paternal?" Sir Rupert repeated, raising an eyebrow as his lips quirked into a smile in spite of himself.   
  
"Avuncular?" Xander suggested. "You are, of course, well known to be  _quite_  beyond reproach--these days, at least--and who could doubt that I might find myself in need of an older gentleman's guidance on a frequent basis?"  
  
Had his companion possessed more of a classical turn of mind, Sir Rupert might have suspected an allusion to the customs of ancient Greece; as it was, he could only reply, "Who, indeed," in a dry tone, and wonder if Alexander Harris ever gave a moment's thought to how his words might be twisted in the mind of one somewhat more jaded than he. 


	9. In which Mr. Harris counts the day a success

Some familiarity with a sword was expected of all gentlemen, and indeed, Mr. Alexander Harris had enjoyed the tutelage of the fencing-master when he had been at school rather more than he had benefited from his Greek or Latin. But since completing his education, he had had no cause to practice, being entirely occupied with his attempts to restore his estates after his late father's neglect and ill-use, and he hadn't regretted it.   
  
He still didn't regret his own indifference to the art of swordsmanship, but he was coming to an appreciation of it in others. Namely, Sir Rupert Giles, who had invited Mr. Harris today to watch him fence with one of the other guests at the house-party, a serious-looking gentleman by the name of Wyndam-Pryce.   
  
Mr. Harris did not care for Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, in the slightest. He would admit, if pressed, that the gentleman had never done anything to give offence; his manners were a bit stiff, but perfectly correct, and he had not even mingled much with the other guests, beyond what was expected of him by their hostess. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, it seemed, was of a scholarly nature, and since his arrival three days ago, he had spent as much of the day as he could making use of Sir Rupert's library. Since Sir Rupert seemed to have invited him here to do precisely that, no one could complain.   
  
Not even Mr. Harris, as it was Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's presence that had led to this display of swordsmanship. Despite his own disinterest, he'd been included, perhaps because Sir Rupert had noticed that he had been absenting himself from the library since Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's arrival, and suspected that he might welcome an afternoon free of feminine chatter.   
  
He was still not terribly interested in sword-fighting; while Sir Rupert and his opponent had stripped down to shirt-sleeves and breeches, and were currently engaged in vigorous swordplay in the middle of the ballroom, Mr. Harris was sprawled casually in a chair set along the wall, content merely to observe.   
  
Quite content, if he felt compelled to be honest, and not only because he would otherwise have been dancing attendance on one or more of the young ladies. Sir Rupert appeared, to his inexpert eye, to be quite an accomplished swordsman, and Mr. Harris found plenty to occupy himself in studying the way he effortlessly parried every thrust of Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's sword.   
  
And when the match had concluded, and Sir Rupert turned to him to ask if he had enjoyed the spectacle, he was quite pleased that he was able to answer without a trace of embarrassment, despite the fact that he was well aware that his admiration was far more for Sir Rupert's broad shoulders and solid musculature than for his skill with a blade.   
  
Frankly, he thought, he counted it dashed impressive of himself that he hadn't blushed like one of the girls.


	10. In which Sir Rupert is no gentleman

  
"And now," Sir Rupert said, "you see why I thought we would ride in this direction." Their horses tethered to nearby trees, he and his companion were seated under yet another tree, their backs against the trunk. 

Xander--while Sir Rupert reluctantly acknowledged he must school his thoughts so as not to betray any unseemly intimacy when they were with others, he was determined to leave no such barriers between them in private--grinned at him. "You would hardly know that we are still on your estate," he ventured after a moment. 

"No," Sir Rupert agreed. "When I was a boy, I would come out here to avoid my lessons," he added, smiling at the memory. He was certain his father's gamekeeper--and now his--knew of the clearing, but none of the other servants ventured into the wooded area, and his governess, and later his tutor, had never been able to locate him. After Jenny's death, he'd begun to come back out here from time to time, wanting the complete solitude it provided him. 

And now he'd brought Xander here, where none of his guests would think to explore, so that they might have some solitude of their own. 

"And what are you avoiding now?" Xander teased, a devilish spark in his dark eyes. 

"Nothing," Sir Rupert said. "I came here to find something, not to avoid it." He caught the younger man's gaze, seeing him color as he realized just what Sir Rupert had come out here to find. 

"Do you know," Xander said, "I had been given to understand that Sir Rupert Giles was always the perfect gentleman." His cheeks were still flushed, but the teasing glint was back in his eyes, and Sir Rupert answered his grin with one of his own. 

"Always?" he said. "Oh, no. Only when I am required to be." Then he reached out, cupping the other man's cheek and stroking his thumb across it. "Is that what you wish me to be?"

"Tare 'an hounds," he exclaimed, "you don't half make a fellow work for what he wants, do you?" He grinned again. "And if you intend to be a perfect gentleman this morning, then I may as well go back to the house and see if the ladies require my escort on their shopping expedition." He pulled a face. "And you wouldn't wish  _that_  grim fate upon me, would you?" 

Sir Rupert chuckled, his thumb still moving over Xander's skin. "Of all the things I would wish upon you," he said, "that would not be one of them." 

He could hear the young man's breath start to quicken. "And what  _would_  those things be?" Xander murmured, smiling up at him. 

"As if you had no idea," he said, shifting closer and pressing his mouth to Xander's--lightly, at first, his tongue tracing slowly over the full bottom lip; then, when Xander's lips parted for him, deepening the kiss. 

He doubted the lad had been kissed often in the past, particularly not if his inclination lay almost entirely toward his own sex; the men young Alexander Harris might have found to satisfy his curiosity would not have been much given to waste time with seduction. 

Sir Rupert, on the other hand, found this not at all a waste of his time; not only because it had--last night excluded--been a very long time since he'd kissed anyone at all, but because he thought it quite a worthwhile pursuit. How could it be otherwise? The slide of his tongue against Xander's was eliciting such beautiful gasps and whimpers, and the young man's hands had come up, slipping under Sir Rupert's coat to clutch at his shirt, hauling him unceremoniously closer and urging him to deepen the kiss. 

There was so much more that Sir Rupert wanted to do with this boy, besides kissing him, but for today, this seemed a good enough start. The grass was still soaked with dew, and Sir Rupert could anticipate the long-suffering sighs his valet would give as he contemplated the state of what had, earlier this morning, been an immaculate fawn-colored pair of breeches, but it all seemed trivial compared to the way that, when they pulled apart for a moment to breathe, Xander whimpered in protest and pulled Sir Rupert back to him for another kiss. 

He'd nearly pulled Sir Rupert on top of him, in fact, and buckskin inexpressibles were doing little to conceal the effect that their activity was having on him. Sir Rupert, finding himself in a similar condition, leaned down again, kissing Xander deeply and enjoying the sight of him--cheeks flushed once again, eyes wide and dark even in the morning sunlight, lips parting eagerly every time Sir Rupert bent down to kiss him. 

"Beautiful," Sir Rupert murmured, to see Xander flush again. Then, reluctantly, he moved away, getting to his feet and suppressing his chuckle at the sight of the petulant look on Xander's face. "If we don't stop now," he said, "I fear we are going to disgrace ourselves here under this tree."

"I do not  _recall_  objecting," Xander argued. 

" _I_  object," Sir Rupert said. "When I take you," he went on, relishing the way Xander moaned and bit his lip at the thought, "it will be in a proper bed, behind closed doors, where neither of us need concern ourselves about who might be passing by." 

"That sounds like a promise," Xander said hopefully. 

"Indeed, it is," he said. "And a gentleman keeps his promises."

"And you're a gentleman when you're required to be?" Xander said, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. It did little to improve the state of his clothing. 

"Precisely," Sir Rupert said, smiling back. "I suggest, by the way," he added as he walked toward the tree where his horse was tethered, "that you tell your man that you had a fall from your horse."

"I haven't been unhorsed for an age," Xander protested. 

"Tell him the truth, then, Mr. Harris; that you were being debauched by your host under an oak tree. I suspect he'd prefer the Banbury tale, but you know your servants best."   


 

 


	11. In which Sir Rupert and Mr. Harris discuss crop rotation

"Remind me again," Sir Rupert said, as he handed his reins to the groom who had come out as they rode up, "what you had wished to ask my advice about?"  
  
His companion chuckled, dismounting and turning his horse over to the stable-boy, whose freckles and prominent ears marked him as some relation to the groom. "Crop rotation," he said, leading the way to the house. "I have all the planting records in the study, if you'd care to have a look at them? You may be able to give me some sound advice even if we don't have time to ride out and look at the fields today." Only Sir Rupert could see the devilish sparkle in his eyes or the twitch of his lips as he tried to contain his mirth.   
  
"I must apologize," Xander went on--for Sir Rupert had determined to allow himself that small indulgence, to think of the man as familiarly as he chose within the safe confines of his own skull---as he led the way up to the house, "for the absence of my staff. When I accepted your kind invitation to your house-party, I told my housekeeper that she might go and visit her ailing mother." He smiled again, a little sheepishly. "And as the entirety of my indoor staff is made up of Mrs. Franklin, my valet, and two girls from the village who come in for the day when Mrs. Franklin is here, I'm afraid that we shall be fending for ourselves while we're here."   
  
The house, Sir Rupert thought, was quite big enough to have supported a larger staff, but Xander had confided in him the ruin to which his late father had brought the family fortunes, and had explained that he was only living in a few rooms at present until the rest could be made habitable. "Think nothing of it," he assured the young man. "I am quite capable of reading a few account-books without being waited upon." And, considering the actual purpose of their visit to the Harris family home, he was quite grateful for the situation.   
  
In his own home, even without the guests currently filling it, it would be much more difficult to find a few moments without being interrupted by some member of the household; even more so if he took into account the need to avoid the servants, as well. One never realized quite how omnipresent the staff was until one wished to escape their notice.   
  
But finally, they were indoors, and Xander was leading the way upstairs, to a corridor quite devoid of windows that might give them away to someone who might be passing under them. "You wished to see my ledgers?" he said, giving the wicked grin free rein now, and Sir Rupert let himself abandon the propriety with which he forced himself to behave when they might be observed.   
  
"I wished," Sir Rupert growled, pulling the younger man close to him, "to see  _you_." He'd look at the books later, if Xander wished, but for now, they had only a short time available to them, and he planned to take full advantage of it. 


	12. In which Sir Rupert keeps his promises

The bedchamber to which Xander had led him--eventually, after quite an extended period of time spent in the corridor, arms twined around each other and mouths crushed together--was quite small and obviously unused, most of the furnishings covered with white cloths to protect them from the dust. But it did possess the key appurtenances necessary for their purpose: a door that could be locked, which Xander did as soon as it closed behind them, tucking the key away securely in his pocket; heavy curtains that could be drawn against any prying eyes; and, most importantly, a bed.   
  
"We shan't be very comfortable," Xander said thoughtfully, looking at the bare mattress on the bed. "But Mrs. Franklin is less likely to notice that we've been here; these rooms are only cleaned twice a year." He smiled up at Sir Rupert. "Plenty of time for me to conceal any evidence."   
  
"You may find this helpful," Sir Rupert said, pulling off the sheet covering a small writing table and spreading it on the bed. "Far easier to dispose of one piece of linen--"  
  
"--than an entire mattress?" Xander finished for him. "Clever of you, Sir Ru-- I mean, Rupert." He smiled again, rather shyly; Sir Rupert recognized himself for a besotted fool, but he still found himself utterly charmed by the expression.   
  
Sir Rupert smiled back, his arms sliding around Xander's waist, pulling him close for another leisurely kiss. This, alone, was worth coming here: the opportunity to be close to Xander without having to keep half his attention focused on their surroundings. His only regret at the moment was that they would have to leave so soon.   
  
And possibly, he thought, as Xander's fingers tugged at his clothing, that he would have to explain the condition of his wardrobe to his valet. At least Robson had been with him for many years now, and had proven himself utterly trustworthy; Sir Rupert had no fears concerning his discretion, but only his disapproval of the state of Sir Rupert's cravat after Xander succeeded in undoing it.   
  
"Here," he said softly, "let me help you." He batted Xander's hands away, but didn't address his attention to his own clothing, instead beginning to undress Xander with careful deliberation. The younger man's cheeks flushed hotly under the attention, and Sir Rupert reminded himself that Xander's history--for he had confessed, the other day, that he was not wholly without experience in these matters--had been concentrated on fast, frantic coupling. There had not been time for anything like this--nor inclination, either, Sir Rupert suspected.   
  
Well, today he had the time, and he was going to make this experience something both of them would remember with pleasure.   
  
To say that Xander patiently allowed himself to be undressed would be a blatant falsehood; he whimpered and shivered at every brush of Sir Rupert's fingertips on his skin, and kept determinedly attempting to return the favor, pulling at Sir Rupert's shirt and the buttons on his trousers. But eventually, both of them had been divested of their clothing, and Sir Rupert had set the small jar he'd thought to slip into his coat pocket on the table beside the bed, for when it should be needed.   
  
He searched Xander's face carefully, looking for any hesitation. Neither of their reputations could survive a scandal of this nature--Xander had not the wealth or the social standing to gain much support outside his closest friends, and as for himself, there would certainly be someone who would be reminded of his uncomfortable past. Once those tales began to spread, he would be ruined, and his wards' hopes along with him.   
  
But he saw only eagerness, and--when Sir Rupert allowed himself to look Xander over, allowing his desire to show in his expression--delight at being desired so openly.   
  
"I promised you," said Sir Rupert, "that when I took you for the first time, it would be in a proper bed, with privacy enough that I need not hurry." When Xander nodded silently, he said, "By our good fortune, we seem to find ourselves in a bedroom, and likely to remain undisturbed for quite some time."   
  
Xander nodded again, and Sir Rupert smiled. "Am I correct in assuming that this seems an opportunity we would be foolish to let pass us by?"   
  
"What you are correct in assuming," Xander said, taking his hand and tugging him impatiently toward the bed, "is that I am not going back to face all those matchmaking mamas without  _something_  pleasant to think on, and you are  _wasting time_." 


	13. In which our heroes attempt to act normally

Sir Rupert had attempted to impress upon Xander the importance of behaving that night at dinner as though nothing of any real significance had happened; he might, in fact, have overdone the warnings, as his companion had rolled his eyes after the fourth such admonition and muttered, "Tare 'an hounds! If you think my wits are  _that_  sorely lacking, I wonder that you could be bothered with me at all."  
  
He'd apologized, of course, and allowed Xander to draw him off the road for a short time, to a clearing where they could dismount and he could reassure Xander that there was no way in which his company could be found wanting. For the remainder of the ride, he had held his tongue, despite the worries that still lay heavy on his mind. Xander seemed to have an expectation that Sir Rupert would know how they were to go about things, but the last time he'd been entangled in anything of this nature, he'd been young and reckless, not caring if he brought himself, or anyone else, to ruin. It had, Sir Rupert was forced to admit, made things far simpler than they were now.  
  
It had been simple, of course, to pretend there had been nothing unusual about the day while he was occupied with washing off the dust of the road and dressing for dinner, but now that he and his guests were seated at table, he was finding it a challenge to behave quite as his usual self. He caught his attention wandering to where Xander was seated, conversing amicably with some of the other young people who were seated near him--even now, he could not suppress a pang of jealousy as he noted Miss Chase among their number--and forced himself to look away; then, several minutes later, wondered if his studied refusal to meet the young man's gaze would give his companions cause to believe that he had taken Xander in dislike for some reason. He overheard Mrs. Kendall--already the one of his neighbors whose company Sir Rupert most devoutly longed to avoid--commenting under her breath to Miss Rosenberg's dragon of a grandmother, that she certainly would not want  _her_  only child wed to such a prattling, foolish young man, and found himself glaring darkly at the woman for the remainder of the meal. In his opinion, Miss Kendall--who had mercifully remained at home tonight with the headache--was a spoilt creature with more hair than wit, and Xander should consider himself lucky he was safe from her clutches.  
  
In the end, he consoled himself that Mrs. Kendall certainly could have no reason to believe that he had any great affection for her, and that his own occasional lapses in sociability and good humor were no doubt well-known among his cousin's friends, and applied himself once more to his dinner.  
  
He kept his resolve and refrained from seeking Xander's company after dinner, as well, leaving him to talk to some of the other young gentlemen; it did occur to him, briefly, that a friendship between Xander and Captain Finn might provide some insight as to whether the captain's obvious partiality toward his ward should be encouraged, but for the most part, Sir Rupert did his best not to consider Xander at all. He made desultory conversation with Wyndam-Pryce, who seemed pleased to have found someone willing to let him discourse at length about the many virtues of his wards' governess. Sir Rupert chose not to confess that he had not personally observed the majority of Miss Burkle's sterling qualities; his own description of her would have been much more brief, and would have included such things as "shy" and "unassuming." A pleasant enough young woman, and he had no complaints regarding her education of the young ladies of his household, but hardly the paragon she appeared in Wyndam-Pryce's eyes. Privately, Sir Rupert sighed and resolved to ask his cousin whether Dawn might be sent off to Miss French's Academy within the next year, or whether he would have to engage another governess for her.  
  
Once they rejoined the ladies, however, Sir Rupert decided that, given the fact that he and Xander had been seen so often in one another's company in recent days, it would arouse no suspicion for them to engage in conversation. He waited until Xander had finished his conversation with Miss Rosenberg, then approached, smiling perhaps a bit more than was strictly necessary, though his words were as bland as blancmange. "I trust you are enjoying a pleasant evening, Mr. Harris?"  
  
"Quite, thank you," was the only reply, but Sir Rupert fancied he saw a flush staining his face and neck. It was fortunate that they were in a dimly-lit corner of the room; Sir Rupert would have hated to have to regret causing that blush.  
  
He found it charming, in fact, enough so that he felt compelled to ensure it continued, and so with another polite smile he inquired, "I do hope I was able to provide some useful instruction for you this afternoon." He paused just long enough for Xander to be certain of his meaning before adding, "..regarding the management of your estate."  
  
He was rewarded with the sight of Xander turning even more scarlet, and with a flustered silence for a moment before Xander could answer, "Yes. It was most enlightening, Sir Rupert, and I'm grateful you were able to take the time to assist me."  
  
But when Xander turned so that none but Sir Rupert could see the devilish gleam in his eyes, and murmured, "However, I suspect I shall need  _much_  more instruction. I daresay you haven't yet passed on a tenth of your experience, but I promise you, sir, you will find me an eager pupil," it was Sir Rupert's turn to clear his throat nervously, feeling a warmth suffuse him that had only a little to do with embarrassment.  
  
Perhaps, he thought, he should have lectured  _himself_  about not giving them away, rather than Xander.


	14. In which Cousin Joyce has an exceedingly clever idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This jumps ahead a bit from the rest of the "main story" parts.

Christmas in Sir Rupert's household had been a quiet affair for many years; even after he left off mourning, he eschewed most festivities of any sort, although he had never denied his staff their Boxing Day gifts and celebrations. When his cousin had come to live with him, bringing two young daughters with her, the atmosphere had lightened considerably, and while Sir Rupert did not ordinarily entertain guests during the season, small amusements and special treats were arranged for his wards, and their mother had conspired with the housekeeper to decorate the rooms with boughs of greenery.  
  
He had been afraid, after the success of that summer's house-party, that his cousin would request that they host a second party at Christmas. Upon the ladies' return from London at the close of the Little Season, however, Mrs. Summers expressed her desire to do nothing of the sort. Her eldest daughter, it seemed, had fallen into a fit of the dismals upon learning that not only had her suitor from last Season remained absent from Town, but Captain Finn's regiment had been on maneuvers, and would remain so until the New Year, at the very earliest. That, to Sir Rupert, would have been bad enough; nothing in his character had prepared him to soothe a sobbing, sulking young girl. She had not ended matters there, however, but had encouraged the attentions of, in her mother's words, an utterly unsuitable young man.  
  
Once his cousin had described this young man to him, Sir Rupert was left feeling far more sanguine about the whole business; he was of good breeding and impeccable manners, although he was not wealthy and, apparently, had the unfortunate habit of reading verses of his own composition to anyone who was too polite to ask him to stop. As he had been envisioning any number of rakes and scoundrels who might have sought to corrupt Miss Summers' virtue, a poet--and one of decidedly un-Byronic bent--was hardly a matter of concern.  
  
However, her mother had determined that a period of quiet in the country was precisely what was required before spring, and so Sir Rupert found his house remained his own.  
  
For the first time in years, however, he found it too quiet, even with his cousins' return. During their absence, Xander had been a frequent visitor, and while they could not be assured of much privacy, they were, at least, able to enjoy one another's companionship, and to steal a few kisses before the library fireplace. At times, circumstance had favored them, and there had been the opportunity for more, stolen moments that Sir Rupert wagered he appreciated every bit as much as some green lad in the throes of calf-love. More, perhaps, because he appreciated them and understood that their rarity would be a constant in his life.  
  
Upon his relatives' return, however, Xander's visits became less common, and Sir Rupert found it more difficult to concoct a reason why young Mr. Harris would require  _quite_  as much instruction in managing his estates as would justify the time they spent together. He had resigned himself to this state of affairs, and consoled himself that the Season would begin again in the spring, and he would once again see the ladies of his household depart for Town.  
  
And then his cousin looked up from the opposite end of the table at dinner and said, "Young Mr. Harris has no family, has he?"  
  
"I believe that is the case," Sir Rupert said, in a casual tone.  
  
"I know he has no parents, Cousin Rupert, and I must say that I admire your kindness in helping him to learn how to go about in the world. I am ashamed to recall that I have often accused you of selfishness."  
  
Sir Rupert forbore to point out that his behavior toward Mr. Harris of late had been motivated by nothing but selfishness, and merely said, "Does this enumeration of my virtues lead you to any point?"  
  
"Indeed," she said. "You must invite him to stay with us, if he can be spared from his estates."  
  
He concealed his reaction by pretending to choke on a bit of mutton. Once he had recovered, he looked up at her with an expression of only mild surprise. "And why must I do that?"  
  
"I have promised Buffy that Miss Rosenberg may visit us," she explained simply, "and as I am fond of the girl, and her grandmother will not stir herself to encourage the match between her and Mr. Harris, I have determined to take that upon myself."  
  
"What an exceedingly clever idea," Sir Rupert said promptly, much to her surprise. "Miss Rosenberg is a charming girl, and I am certain your interest will be of benefit to her." Of that, he was quite certain; his cousin would take the girl in hand and give her a better idea of how a well-brought-up young woman might be able to enjoy herself in society, rather than simply to comport herself properly. And Xander enjoyed her company--and, not incidentally, was not at all likely to tumble into love with her.  
  
Mrs. Summers looked pleased with herself; compliments from her cousin were not commonplace. "You will write to him?"  
  
"Indeed," Sir Rupert said, already planning the wording so that Xander might read between the lines.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
